Sam Who
by pacejunkie
Summary: Sam turns to witchcraft to seek a way out of his contract with the Devil, with unexpected consequences.


**Title:** Sam Who?

**Fandom:** Reaper

**Rating:** PG-13/T

**Summary:** Sam turns to witchcraft to seek a way out of his contract with the Devil, with unexpected consequences.

**Word Count:** 5,780

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Reaper_, not one little bit.

* * *

_He's in Hell. He just knows it._

_The room is too dark to see detail but it feels like Hell – stifling, oppressive atmosphere, flames licking at the edges of his vision, the cackle of some distant lunatic layered over multiple moans of pain. Sam looks down at his ragged, filthy clothing, sees the rusty iron chains shackling his ankles. He walks – shuffles, really – in the direction of a tiny point of light, drawn to its force, concentrating on it to block out his surroundings. Sam doesn't know when he got here but it feels like it's been a very long time. He moves wearily, joints aching like an old man even though on the surface he doesn't feel as though he's aged. _

_As he approaches the source he discovers a small pedestal table bathed in the light. On the table sits a large leather bound book, one he knows all too well and hates on sight, his own name embossed on the spine in gold. Sam's hands reach out, almost of their own accord; the contract on his soul is trembling, alive. His fingers brush the cover and he is surprised by how warm it feels, soft like human skin, pulsing beneath his touch. Opening the cover and revealing the thick, worn parchment, Sam flips to a random page and stares, trying to decipher the arcane language. The ink turns deep red, rises and then runs down the pages, thick like syrup, oozing out from between every leaf and down the sides like a stack of pancakes. He steps back in disgust, just as from somewhere in the depths of the binding there issues a scream. A horrible gut wrenching scream._

_His scream._

"Sam?"

Sam Oliver jolts upright with a shout. It must not have been the first sound he made that night because his light is already on and Sock and Ben are sticking their heads in the doorway, a cocktail of worried and confused expressions on their faces.

"What?" Sam asks them, feigning calm despite the sweat on his skin and his pounding chest.

He can feel his fists clutching the sheets white knuckled and hopes they don't notice that either. Sock takes a step into the room and Sam sees he's holding a baseball bat.

"You all right?" asks Ben. "You were screaming."

Sam looks away, embarrassed. It isn't the first dream he's had of his own personal afterlife, but it's the first time he's been caught. He never wants his friends to know how scared he gets sometimes, but fears and anxieties have a way of finding their way to the surface no matter how deep you bury them, beating him over the head at night. He couldn't control his dreams, and lately they've been getting worse.

Sure Sam has a damn good reason to be scared. His job as a bounty hunter brings him close to death every day, but for Sam that doesn't mean pearly gates and Saint Peter. His soul is sold to Satan. Unlike most mortals who debate about life after death, Sam knows where he's going. Regardless of his acts in life, whether he's been good or bad, Sam Oliver is going to hell. And he never tells his friends this but it scares him.

"Yeah," says Sam, cheeks burning, "sorry."

They don't seem too bothered about being woken up, they were just concerned like the friends they are. Sam knows they want to ask him about it but he's not talking, there's no point. Sock can't beat this problem away with a baseball bat and Sam can't capture it in a vessel. There's nothing his friends can do for him. He punches his pillow, rolls over and pretends to be sleeping until he hears his door click shut. Then he opens his eyes again, turns to his window and watches the sunrise.

* * *

With the daylight come the distractions – his sucky job at the Bench, his good times with Sock, Ben and Andi and his other job collecting escaped souls. But Sam has other worries as well that occupy his mortal existence -- his father's bizarre death and the demons who hunt him, believing Sam to be the harbinger of the apocalypse. Clearly hell is a concern that has to get in line normally. But since that last dream Sam finds he can't stop thinking of the contract on his soul, the reason for it all.

The last time he had the document Sam had given it to Tony to look over for him, who had offered to help find him a loophole. All that resulted from that was the belief that the Devil might be Sam's father, but true or not, that information wasn't any help to him now. Despite the thousands of pages of dense Latin, Sam is still hopeful that there is something, some way of releasing him from this agreement he never signed short of human sacrifice. Human sacrifice would do it he learned but no, Sam isn't going there ever.

So Sam calls Tony from work and asks the demon to bring the contract over.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful," says a contrite Tony when he arrives.

"It's okay," says Sam with a sigh, taking the huge volume off his hands and stuffing it into his locker. "I wasn't really expecting much anyway."

Tony wishes him luck and starts to head out.

"Tony?" Sam calls to him.

"Yeah?" the demon responds.

"Have you heard from Steve, since…," Sam asks, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging. Neither man wishes to revisit the events of that night.

"No," Tony says quietly, and leaves.

* * *

First his dad had tried and then Tony. Sam realizes when he lugs the book back to his apartment that he has never tried to read the contract himself. With his high school degree and one year of college, he had been intimidated by the Latin and legalese.

"But I'm pretty smart," he tells a dubious Sock and Ben as he enters the apartment and drops the contract heavily on the kitchen counter, "and I'm motivated. Maybe I can figure it out on my own."

Sam pulls out a Latin dictionary he picked up at a used book store, a pad of paper and a pen and gets to work. An hour later, Ben brings him a cup of coffee.

"Anything?" he asks.

"No," Sam mutters, nose in the dictionary, conjugating verbs.

Ben asks him again an hour later and Sam wordlessly shakes his head. After two more hours his head starts to feel heavy and droops. Sam jerks back up and drinks more coffee. Ben asks again at one thirty in the morning and Sam just grunts at him. By two o'clock Sock and Ben leave him to it and go to bed.

They find him the next morning, still dressed, asleep on the dusty pages of the contract. Ben puts a hand on Sam's shoulder and wakes him.

"Sam, give it up," he says gently.

"I can't give it up Ben," says Sam, bleary-eyed, "would _you_ give it up?"

"Probably not," says Ben, "But you're not going to find anything this way."

Sam's barely paying attention, thoughts still racing over his limited options. Running his hands through his uncombed hair, he voices his thoughts out loud, "There must be some way out of this. Something obvious, we're not seeing. Damn, I wish I knew what my parents were keeping from me. I'm sure the answer's there."

"Have you asked your mom since…," asks Sock, much the way that Sam had asked Tony about Steve. The night that Sam lost his father and was nearly buried alive is still treated like an open wound.

Sam shakes his head, "I tried once but she just ran out of the room crying. I know she and my dad argued about it before he died. She wanted to tell me then but now, I don't know. Maybe after what happened to my dad she thinks she's protecting me."

"You'd be safer if you were freed from that contract," notes Ben.

"I guess there's really nothing she can do about that," decides Sam, "I just wish the thing had never existed."

"Maybe that's it," adds Sock, chewing on a donut.

"What's it?" asks Ben.

"Wishing it never existed," Sock explains, "We know a lot of freaky demons. Maybe one of them can find a way to make the contract disappear like it never happened."

Sam stares at his friend as though he had just told him he had been elected Prime Minister of the Moon.

"Sock, most of the demons we know want me dead," Sam points out.

"No," Sock counters, "most of the demons we know are afraid of you because they think you're a threat. But what if you weren't? Maybe they'd help you because it helps them."

"If they could do that wouldn't they be able to free themselves?" asks Ben.

"Not necessarily," says Sam, acknowledging Sock's point. "They're not bound by a contract, they were punished by God. Nothing can change that apart from God's mercy. But I'm different, maybe they _can_ help me."

"What about that hippy demon, the friend of Gladbags that got you the magic vessel?" asks Sock. "He had all kinds of cool stuff in that storage locker."

"Dennis," says Sam, closing the tome shut. "We'll go see him tomorrow."

* * *

When Sam and his friends appear in the office of the self storage facility where Dennis works, the demon glances at the door and dives under the reception desk.

"No warranties man!" he shouts from his protective cover. "No refunds or exchanges or…"

"Dennis, take it easy," says Sam. "We're not here about the vessel you gave us. This is something different."

There is a pause as though Dennis is contemplating his options. Then his voice drifts out once again. "You're not here to like… kill me? Because I've been hearing the talk and I know what they say you are but I just want you to know I have nothing to do with that stuff. I keep to myself, far from trouble you know what I'm saying."

"Whatever you heard it's not true," says Sam. "I'm not dangerous and I'm not here to hurt you. I just need another favor. Now can you come out of there please?"

Another pause and then Sam sees the top of Dennis' head of grey streaked stringy hair. The demon rises fully, hands raised, still suspicious, but relaxes slightly when he sees his visitors are unarmed.

"Good man," says Sock.

"What…" Dennis begins, "what do you need?"

Sam isn't quite sure how to begin, but he knows he doesn't want to say too much for fear of being overheard. "I have this… problem. It's not a person, it's a thing, but I need to make it go away. Do you know anyone that can do that for me?"

The demon stares back, confusion in his face, "What is this thing?"

"I can't tell you that," says Sam, and then quickly adds, "for your own safety."

"Ah, thanks dude," Dennis replies, accepting the explanation without question. "And you can't use a vessel on it? Or burn it?"

"No," says Sam. "That won't really make it go away. I need to make it as though this thing never existed in the first place."

Dennis went white and stepped back. "Aw man, you're talking about altering reality aren't you? I knew you guys were trouble."

"We're not trouble, I'm just in a real bind and I don't know what else to do," says Sam. "Look theoretically, if we were to do this, do you know anyone who could help us?"

"Well that's major mojo," he says, "something like that would take some wicked kind of magic. Lucky for you I just might know someone, theoretically of course."

"Where do we find him?" asks Sock.

"Not him man, her. As soon as I tell you, you're gone got it? And you were never here."

* * *

There is no name on the slip of paper, just an address. On the way, Ben asks, "Sam, are you sure you want to do this? We could be messing with some pretty dark magic. Anything could happen. We don't even know this demon."

"I've tried everything else, what choice do I have?" Sam replies. "Whatever happens I'll be no worse off than I am now with a damned soul."

"Are you sure about that bro?" asks Sock. "What if she turns you into a cockroach?"

"Or kills you and sends you to hell sooner," adds Ben darkly.

"I've thought of that," says Sam. "But I'm going to take the risk. If it works this all goes away, all my troubles will be over. I can have a normal life again."

_And all without the need for human sacrifice,_ Sam adds to himself, recalling the only loophole the rebel demons had been able to find for him. He isn't going to risk anyone's life but his own if that's what it takes.

Sam, Sock and Ben follow the directions and arrive at an unassuming Craftsman style home in a well kept suburban neighborhood. Sam wonders just how many demons are living among the unassuming and decides he'd rather not know. He only needs to concentrate on one now. He takes the contract from the trunk and the three head to the front door.

A young woman answers Sam's knock, more witch than demon, dressed entirely in black with jet black hair and nails to match. She waits expectantly.

"Uh, hi," Sam begins, book feeling heavy in his arms like a squirming toddler, "I'm Sam. I was told you could help me."

She stands back and allows the three to enter. The room looks like a gypsy den, only darker, mostly red and black fabrics with candles, jars and petrified objects on the walls. Sam feels a tremor of unease and notices his friends are uncharacteristically speechless.

"I don't do love potions," she says, tonelessly.

"No it's nothing like that," Sam begins, and then hastily steps on to her round area rug and beckons her inside the circle, explaining everything.

When he finishes, the witch nods, "Okay, you want me to remove the contract from our reality so that it no longer binds you, easy enough."

"It is?" asks Sam, encouraged, "Really, you could do that?"

"Five hundred dollars," she says. "This is a tricky spell."

Sam looks at his friends. It's most of their savings, but they could do it if they pooled it together. When Sock and Ben nod, Sam turns back. "Okay, you got it. Can we do this now?"

"Follow me," she says and leads them to her cellar.

The basement level is a concrete walled area with support beams and a dirt floor. In the center of the bare floor is a five pointed star in a circle. Sam watches as the witch etches a larger circle around the pentagram in the dirt with a stick and places candles on the points, lighting them. She indicates where Sam should sit within the two concentric rings.

"Place the contract in the center of the star," she tells him.

Sam complies as Ben and Sock watch from the corner of the room like wallflowers at a school dance. The witch turns to a cabinet, removes an armful of items and returns to the circle. She makes a smaller circle of herbs and powders on top of the contract.

"What's that for?" Sam asks.

"Circles help to focus the energy and contain it," she explains as she works. "We need an enormous amount of energy to perform this spell, the circle holds it in once I've summoned it and the ingredients channel the energy to the object we're trying to affect. Once we've got the energy, we need to tell the spirits what we want them to do with both words and deeds."

"Deeds?" asks Sam.

The witch looks up at him, "This contract was sealed in blood, as all demonic contracts are. It will take blood to unseal it."

Sam barely has a chance to absorb the meaning of her words before she produces a large ceremonial dagger, holding it out to him like an offering.

Sam's eyes widen and he hears Sock and Ben gasp and step closer, "Wait a minute. What do you have to do?"

"Just a few drops should do it," she explains.

Sam looks from the witch to his friends. He's come this far, what was a few drops of blood? He takes a deep breath to slow his racing pulse and turns back to her.

"Okay, fine. Let's do this," he says.

"I'll need complete silence," she says as she begins.

The witch holds the dagger point down towards the contract and chants in some language Sam doesn't recognize. He watches her as she enters a trance and then, still chanting, holds out her hand toward Sam. Sam holds out his right hand and she takes it, turning it up over the contract and with one swift motion she slices clean across his palm.

"Ah, son of a…," Sam mutters and then bites his tongue to silence himself, resisting the urge to pull back. The cut isn't deep, but it stings like hell and droplets of blood rise to the surface of his skin. She turns his hand over and allows the blood to drip onto the book cover.

More chanting and Sam gasps as he feels a force enter the circle, like a stiff breeze in reverse, sucking on the oxygen like a vacuum. The force passes through him as though he were nothing at all, then swirls around them both, pressure building until Sam could feel it press against his chest.

He breathes deeply, fighting dizziness and focuses on the contract which is glowing with a sparkling light. It's working, Sam thinks. Something's happening. The witch is deep in her trance now and the light is all around them, glowing brighter, almost solid. More energy fills the circle and Sam fears they will be unable to contain it, it pours in like water from a broken dam, overwhelming him, filling his lungs.

Sam can't breathe and starts to panic. Gasping sharply, he tries to take his hand back but the witch is holding it in a vice like grip. Sam shakes and then convulses, unaware of Sock and Ben or anything else around him. All he knows is that he's dying.

Suddenly, there's a merciful explosion of light that ends his pain, replacing it with eternal blackness.

* * *

Ben watches the ritual, wondering what his grandmother would say if she knew he were here. He was raised to believe the occult was evil, but like everything else in the world, Ben has learned that magic could be used for good or for bad. The thing is Ben still can't decide which this is.

It all seems like play acting until Sam starts to bleed and the real show begins. Ben can't help himself; he doesn't want to do anything to interfere with the spell but he finds himself praying silently for protection from whatever they are witnessing. He glances over at Sock who stares fascinated, probably having a very different reaction to the floor show.

Either something is going right or very wrong because the swirling light brightens and Sam is in distress. Ben sees Sam stiffen and his eyes roll back.

"What's happening?" Ben asks. "Sock, he can't breathe!"

Sock's jaw drops, "Do you think its working? If we go in there we could screw up everything. Sam would never forgive us."

But Ben can't watch any longer as his friend goes into some kind of seizure. "Hey!" he shouts, coming to the very edge of the circle. "Stop it! Stop now!"

An explosion erupts inside the circle and Sock and Ben are thrown back like dolls. Ben flies into the cinderblock wall, cries out and slumps to the floor. His vision blurred, he loses awareness for a few seconds.

"Sock, are you okay?" he asks after a minute, his sight clearing as he looks around the now silent room, "What happened?"

Sock stands in front of him, wordless and stock still, blocking his view of the circle. Ben pulls himself up and goes to his friend.

The witch is lying there still in the circle, eyes wide to the ceiling, unseeing. The carved handle of the ceremonial dagger sticks out of her chest.

Both Sam and the contract are gone.

* * *

"Where's Sam?" Ben asks as the sight sinks into his awareness. When Sock doesn't answer he repeats more loudly, "Where's Sam?!"

"I don't know Benjy," Sock whispers. "But oh man. Ding dong, the witch is dead."

"We need to get help," Ben says. "I knew this was a mistake."

"Do you think he's still alive somewhere?" asks Sock, still stunned. "I mean he's not here and dead right? That's a good sign."

"_A good sign_?!" shouts Ben. "Sock, Sam is _gone_!"

"Well, yeah, but so's the contract," Sock points out. "Now all we have to do is find Sam and bring him back."

"How are we going to do that without the witch?" Ben notes, "She can't reverse the spell."

Sock thinks. "Maybe he just transported somewhere. Let's go look for him."

Ben feels horrible leaving the witch behind but there's nothing else they can do for her. They get in the car, drive to the gas station and Ben makes an anonymous phone call to 911 from a pay phone. Then Ben takes a shot and calls their apartment but there's no answer, so they head to Sam's parent's house.

They race to the porch and knock on the door. A man answers with a novel in one hand and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He regards them with a blank expression.

"Can I help you boys?" he asks.

Ben swallows, and he feels a cold shiver run up his spine as if he had just been greeted by a ghost. Sam's father is dead, or at least he is supposed to be, yet here he is.

"Mr. Oliver," Ben says, speaking slowly to hide his surprise, "We're looking for Sam. Have you seen him today?"

Mr. Oliver blinks and then smiles, "Sam Friedman, my accountant?"

"No, Sam Oliver your son," says Sock.

"No, there must be some mistake," he says. "My son is Kyle. Are you friends of Kyle's?"

Ben can actually feel his heart skip a beat. "Kyle is your only son?"

"That's right," Mr. Oliver responds. "Maybe you have the wrong house. I think the Pattersons have a son named Sam. He's a bit older than you boys but, they're just up the block at 643."

"Yeah, that must be it," says Ben, "Sorry to bother you."

"No problem," Mr. Oliver says cheerily and shuts the door.

Ben sinks to the stoop and fights the urge to burst into tears right on the Oliver's porch.

"Ben, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asks Sock, still staring at the closed door.

But Ben wasn't ready to go there, couldn't accept it yet. "Let's go the Bench," he says, willing himself back up with all of his might. "Then we'll know for sure."

It's the last shred of hope they have, some sign that Sam Oliver once existed. They burst into the Bench and find Andi.

"Andi! We need to talk to you!" Sock yells.

Andi puts down the feather duster and looks at them. "Okay, what's up? Is something wrong Sock?"

Ben is heartened, "You know us?"

Andi looks bemused, "Of course I know you. We've been working together for five years. What's this about, why are you all out of breath?"

"We're looking for Sam," Ben says.

Andi smiles, as though waiting for a punch line, "Who's Sam?"

"No," says Ben, stepping away from her as though she were tainted. "This is not happening."

"Ben, I'm serious, who's Sam?" she asks.

Instead Sock points to Andi's finger and asks, "What's that?"

Andi glances down at the gold band on her left hand. "What, you mean my wedding ring? You've seen this before."

"You're _married_?" asks Sock.

"For a year now," Andi says growing annoyed. "You were at my wedding. Guys, what's going on, are you all right?"

"Who's your husband?" asks Ben.

"Uh, Greg?" she says. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Yeah Andi," says Sock, "but I think it's on us."

"Sock, the employee files," says Ben, reminding him of the real reason they were there.

They sneak into Ted's office and head for the filing cabinet. There's no point asking Ted because something tells Ben that Ted won't remember Sam either. The files confirm their fears – no Sam Oliver has ever been employed at the Work Bench.

"Should we call Josie, have her check the birth records?" asks Sock.

"You can do that," Ben says, "but we both know what she'll find."

"A whole lot of nothing?" says Sock, defeated.

Ben nods, "Sam Oliver never existed."

* * *

No birth record, no phone listing, no Sam. Mr. Oliver is alive because his son never fell out with an army of demons, so he was never thrown into a cage and buried. The Olivers never signed any contract with Satan. They lived a simple life with one son named Kyle.

And Andi married Greg. Man alive, Andi married Greg. For that reason alone, they had to undo this.

They could go back to Dennis but he had told them not to return, that he would deny everything. They were warned of course, warned that this was serious black magic they were messing with but Sam was just so desperate to be freed from that contract.

"Maybe this is what Sam would have wanted," Ben mutters over his beer. "Maybe he'd rather not exist than be bound to that contract. It would bring his dad back at least. I know he'd want that."

"Sam's a lot of things but he's not suicidal," argues Sock. "He's a fighter; he'd want us to bring him back. None of this is real, it's not our reality."

"Why didn't the spell affect us?" Ben asks, "Why are we the only ones that remember Sam?"

"I don't know," says Sock, "maybe because we were close when it happened. Dumb luck."

"There's no such thing," says Ben. "We're the only ones that can help him now and there has to be a reason for that. I just wish I knew what to do."

Sock drains his glass and stands up, "Well I know what to do. You want another one?"

Ben just slumps over his half empty glass, cheek resting on the rim. "I miss Sam."

Sock sinks back down and puts a hand on Ben's shoulder. "I miss him too Benjy."

* * *

In a world without Sam, some changes are big, like his dad coming back from the dead, and others are small. This change is not quite resurrection quality but it's up there.

Without Sam, Sock and Ben would never have been able to afford their cool ass apartment, yet somehow they still have it. Before going home, Ben checks his driver's license to be sure their address hadn't changed along with everything else. Nope, still the same unit. Either they have more money in this universe or they have another roommate.

Sock and Ben rush home to check their place. The door looks the same and the key still fits in the lock. For an instant, Ben wonders whether everything is back to normal, at least at home, and they'll open the door and see Sam standing there, smiling and waiting for them.

Instead they enter a darkened space and Ben calls out, "Hello?"

The apartment is quiet and still. Sock flips the light and they enter. Ben quickly takes it all in and tries to put his finger on what's different. It looks mostly the same, maybe a little neater, less clutter, less posters on the walls. At the door is a small basket containing several pairs of shoes.

Shoes.

Sock suddenly turns green. "Oh no, Benjy," he says and runs to Sam's bedroom, leaving Ben standing confused in the entry. Not three seconds later, Ben hears an awful, tormented scream.

Ben runs back to the bedroom. He gets there to find Sock standing at the opening of the bedroom closet to find it hung with crisp button down shirts and overflowing with shoes. Sock is practically crying.

"Ben, do you realize what this means?!" Sock shouts.

Ben thinks he does, but to be sure he glances over to the dresser to find the things he fears -- a tube of hair gel, some cheap cologne…

...and a framed photo of Ted.

Ted is their freaking roommate.

Sock turns and grabs Ben by the front of his shirt. "Ben we have to do something! I can't live in this universe Ben! I won't! We need Sam back!"

Sock's raving is drowned out by a deafening clap of thunder and the apartment goes dark. Ben takes hold of Sock's wrists and calls out in the pitch blackness, "Sock, are you okay?"

"Yeah Ben, what's going on?"

"I don't know. I think there's a flashlight in the kitchen, at least there used to be."

Ben keeps hold of Sock's wrist and pulls him along through the dark. He takes small, careful steps but notices that he's not bumping into anything, and didn't this bedroom used to be a lot smaller? He should have hit the doorway by now. Ben walks faster, ignoring his blindness, not caring if he is about to collide with a wall or a door but there's nothing there. He breaks into a run but there's still no end in sight. It's as if they had left their apartment and entered some vast realm of nothingness. Not a peaceful, white place, but a dark nothingness. Ben's fear rises up into his throat.

"Uh Sock," he says. "We got a problem."

"I'd say that's an understatement," says a deep voice.

Sock and Ben both scream. It's him, and the Devil steps forward into his own little pool of light looking very, very unhappy.

"Oh boys, what have you done?" he asks. "What did you do to Sam?"

Sock is whimpering too much too speak so Ben takes over. "We didn't… I mean… we didn't mean to… Sam was trying to get out of the contract, make it disappear."

"Well I hope you boys have learned your lesson," says the Devil, sounding like a satanic Father Knows Best.

"Yes, sir, absolutely we have," says Sock, finding his voice and then turning to Ben and whispering, "Ben what have we learned?"

Ben quite literally takes a shot in the dark, "Not to mess with the Devil?"

"No, you knuckleheads," the Devil snaps, "Well, yes, but more than that, the spell didn't go wrong, it worked. The contract doesn't just bind Sam, it _is_ Sam. It's a part of him. It shares his soul and the two can't be separated."

Realization dawns on Ben, "So when the contract disappeared…so did Sam."

"Exactly," says the Devil.

"But wait," says Sock, catching on, "that means bringing Sam back will also bring back the contract and his soul will still be yours."

The Devil's face spreads into a wide grin, "Now you're catching on. You're smarter than you look. So, do you want him back or not?"

Of course they want him back, thinks Ben, but still he couldn't help but feel defeated. They had failed to release Sam from his contract, and by the sounds of things, they never would. Ben wonders how Sam will feel when he learns that terrible truth. Sam can no sooner separate himself from his contract as cut off his own head and live. Would Sam still want to come back knowing he is well and truly doomed?

Ben and Sock exchange looks. Ben knows how Sock feels about a world without Sam and Ted as a roomie. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Ben wanted Sam back too for both themselves and for Andi. Even Sam with a damned soul is better than no Sam at all. It would mean Mr. Oliver would have to go away again, but who was he to question his reality and the way things are supposed to be. Ben still believed that things were meant to turn out right in the end and they would, but not without Sam.

With a nod and a flash the lights return. They are back in Ted's bedroom, as though they had never taken a step, only the shoes and the hair gel are gone.

Sam lies to their right, stirring on the bed, apparently awakening from a deep sleep.

"Sam!" they both cry, rushing towards him.

Sam wakes up just as he's being pulled from the bed into a big group man hug. "What are you doing?" He looks around, groggy, and recognizes his surroundings. "Did it work? What happened to the witch?"

* * *

Sam takes the news surprisingly well. Maybe he never expected it to work anyway. An hour later, he's still feeling a bit woozy. He remembers an explosion in the cellar and then nothing until he woke up at home. The three are drinking beer on the couch and still talking about what had happened.

"So you guys saw my dad?" he asks them.

"Well, kind of Bizarro Dad but yeah," says Sock.

"How'd he look?" asks Sam.

"He looked good," says Ben, "but it wasn't real, he didn't know who you were. He wasn't the dad you knew."

"Still," Sam thinks, looking off into space, "If I had never been born he'd still be alive."

"You can't think like that man, it is what is," says Ben. "This is our reality, the only one that matters."

Sam nodded and finished off his beer with a sigh. "Well I'm happy to save you from the horror of a reality of living with Ted."

"Proving once again that you are our hero," says Sock.

Sam smiles, "Well I guess I should give up on this idea of ever getting out of the contract."

"You never know about the future," says Ben. "Maybe in this reality you do find a way out, just not right now."

_Yeah,_ thinks Sam, _not right now._ For now he was young, he had his friends, his family and his job. He had work to do for The Devil, escaped souls to capture, and as long as he managed to stay alive, hell would have to wait.


End file.
